WHEN PEACE ISN’T POSSIBLE

Is that who I think it is? I glanced discreetly at the young woman in front of me in the check-out line, paying for her groceries. It had been at least 15 years since I’d seen her. But I’d recognize that thick, glossy hair and tall slender frame anywhere. It had to be Sarah.

Sarah and I were best friends in fifth and sixth grade. We spent lots of time at each other’s houses – playing playing board games on the living room floor, making veggie pizzas, or giggling at sleepovers.

When my family moved to Central America for a year in seventh grade, I promised Sarah I’d write. But I was adjusting to life in a new country and trying to make friends in my new school, and I didn’t really keep in touch. After we moved back to the US at the end of that year, I tried to contact Sarah a few times, but she was hurt, and she didn’t want to see me.

The years passed, and I went to college, then graduate school, then became a teacher. Every once in awhile, I thought of Sarah and felt a pang of regret that I hadn’t re-connected with her. But now here she was, right in front of me in the supermarket! I couldn’t believe it!